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Rising Stars by Joyce Wakevield

Angel Dance II, by Atmara Rebecca Cloe
"Angel Dance II",
by Atmara Rebecca Cloe
I am sitting in line at the bank. The sun is shining; the radio plays a song from my past. Outside the car, a lone redbud tree stands and I notice the stillness of the branches. I see something else, too. The branch is knobby with tiny buds. It is January still but the promise, the preparation for spring's burst of cranberry-colored blooms is tightly curled just inches away from me.

What is this miracle? Is it new, just come into being? Or is it as old and as young as time's first breath? Yes, it is contained within the tree. It is inside me also. It is life. Each second preparing for the next like wind rippling through the grass. Each moment is a creation complete in itself but preparing for the next. I am aware of my own life. The urge to create with pen, paper, and my computer is like that small tree - covered with buds preparing to bloom.

I write and paint and work and play. Cooking supper is a creation, another preparation celebrating life. How many times have I said I want to write about that thing or this person? And the moment slips away, caught up in just living life on life's terms. But, sometimes, the feeling will not pass and I find a corner of the kitchen table not covered with the day's clutter, and I write. It is a river running through my heart, clean and clear and true.

I recently moved to the country and my favorite part of the day is driving out of the city where I work heading home. I leave behind the work, the traffic, and the lights of the city. The darkness beckons the night creatures to move. I see rabbits and sometimes deer running through the woods. And then, I see the stars. A few at first, then many more. They are so bright and clear out here. It feels like I could reach up and touch them. These rising stars guide me home. They clear some of the day's clutter from my mind. They are my sisters.

I want to welcome you all to Moondance and to Rising Stars. I believe that is truly what we all are, Rising Stars. We create with each breath, we share these creations and that makes us more alive than ever. I never have to worry if my make-up is right or my hair is fixed when I write. The star of my self is always beautiful. So come with me this moment and share the thoughts and words of you! You are the rising stars that guide me home to myself.

More rising Stars:
| Seasonal Journeys | Visiting the Lorraine | Feminist Nuns? | Gramma |

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